Willow
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: After Amanda's death, Hoffman buys her a plot of soil and a tombstone with her name engraved on it. He figures it's the least he can do. HoffmanAmanda, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Saw._

_**Summary: After Amanda's death, Hoffman buys her a plot of soil and a tombstone with her name engraved on it. He figures it's the least he can do. HoffmanAmanda, oneshot**_

_My newest Saw fanfic! It's my second attempt at a Hoffmanda! My first fic got great responses so I figured why not try a new attempt? This one is probably going to be a bit angst and stuff, but that's nothing knew with this pairing! I hope everyone enjoys!_

_This also has a few spoilers to SAW 6, so you are warned if by any chance you haven't seen it!_

* * *

**Willow**

* * *

Much discussion was put forth on the matters of where to lay Amanda Young's body to rest.

John Kramer's lifeless body had been put in a family plot, right by his mother and father. It was something he had bought and reserved for himself when he found out he had cancer, and finally it was coming to good use. There was also a spot beside his body where he had saved a place for Jill, when she would come join him.

Of course, there was a fair amount of protest, for various reasons, that John's body was put in such a mundane place. A place for people who were _loved _and _cherished_, not murderers. But it was in John's will, so whatever he wanted done would be done because it was his dying wish, even if he _was _responsible.

But, with John's body in the ground after various autopsies and other medical whatnot, the matter always returned to the dark haired apprentice.

She had no family. Hardly any money to her name. Before she was taken in by John, she lived alone in a shitty apartment with no electricity, barely skimming by on the rent, using most of the money she managed to scrounge up on drugs and other harmful things.

If it weren't for John, no one would have even batted an eyelash when she died.

But since the Jigsaw killer made her his second apprentice, turning her life upside down in the process, the former-druggie made quite a splash when her body was found dead alongside his and various others.

"_Dump her in the river!" _one hostile voice had said, _"People like her don't deserve to be honored in a grave!"_

Yet another, _"Burn her like the witch she was!"_

"_No one cared about her in life, why should they in death?!"_

"_She was pathetic. A weakling who deserved what she got when she became involved with that bastard's ways!"_

Other people's thoughts weren't so well-worded. Most consisted of various curse words and sobbing, but the verdict remained the same…

Amanda Young didn't _deserve _a proper burial.

In the midst of all this hatred and utter insanity, one person stood calm and confident in the face of everything.

Someone that should have hated her, for tampering with his - and Jigsaw's - legacy, was the one person out of millions that had pitied her.

_Cared _for her.

They were one in the same. Both alone in the world, though she was on the wrong side of the tracks. But he guessed they were pretty much even, because both of them had used a Jigsaw trap to _murder_ and not _save_, as John had preached. He saw them as equals (even if her craftsmanship on the traps was better than his, he'd admit).

So, he supposed that's why he found himself handing over a wad of cash in exchange for a tombstone with her name carved on the front.

Since he was the only one who cared about her - being as she had no family that would actually claim her - he was the one who got the rights to her body. He was the one who got to pick out a place for her body to rest. And he was the one who had purchased the grave marker.

He figured it was the least he could do.

Her body had been put to rest underneath the shady, willowy arms of a tree that stood just in an abandoned corner of the cemetery where John lay. The tree was in convenience for her, because it would allow her to rest near John, which he knew was what she wanted, ultimately. If he knew anything about Amanda, it was the fact that she was fiercely devoted to the man, and would have this no other way.

So he put her as close to the beloved man as he could without infringing on his territory.

It seemed ironic that even in death she was on the outskirts of John's presence.

Hoffman visited her every day after she was put in the ground officially. Some days he came more than once, and each time, he would see various things wrong with the scene around him.

Graffiti marked the stone. Some was even carved into the otherwise beautiful bark of the tree above her. Derogatory names that had no place here. It hurt him. Because he was in the same boat Amanda was in before she died. But now things were different. He was the successor, and she was not. He could only imagine what the words would say if he was discovered.

Every day, he would come by and check on the grave, removing the various signs of vandalism with care. _Someone _had to care for her, after all. And, somehow, he felt like he _should _care. Like he was _meant _to care.

So, that's what he did.

Today was a particularly harsh day of cleanup. Someone had brought out the permanent marker and wrote 'bitch' on the stone. There were rolls of toilet paper hanging from the tree, which he cleaned off. The tree was spray painted with nasty, cutting words. He cleaned them all off. But the carvings in the bark itself were just something he had to learn to live with, no matter how much it bothered him.

It seemed odd to him that while Amanda's grave was seemingly vandalized every second of every day, that John's would go unscathed practically. Sure, there had been several people who had done things to his tomb, but not nearly as many that had come by Amanda's.

He usually shook it off, not let it get to him. He still passed by and saw John's grave every now and then, leaving a flower or whatnot. Sometimes he just left his thoughts. He felt like talking to his mentor was something that would cleanse his mind, and it did more often than not.

The days passed, and each of those days, even after the fight with Perez and the other agents, he came to the grave. Even when he was covered in what could be blood, he came. In the still of the night, of course. The vandals wouldn't mess around if they saw him, and it worked.

He told her about what he had done in a hushed voice, as if everyone could hear him. Told her about how the knife slashed through Perez's torso as he tried to get the information out of her, and then told her about how he lit the whole place up in flames.

Amanda had always loved a violent story, he rationalized, as if that were the only reason he was telling her of his deeds.

Maybe, he just wanted someone to talk to. To let all of this out of his chest and onto someone else's conscious. And it would work. Amanda wouldn't tell anyone, of course. And he felt better.

_Somewhat._

Then, a while after that, he didn't visit.

He couldn't.

Trapped in that room, in that small, suffocating room, with his cheek ripped open and bleeding, his hand broken and throbbing, he could do nothing but scream and wail at his stupidity.

He had gotten out, of course, after he had overridden his shock at the whole situation. Bursting out of that room with a vendetta, he held his hand to his cheek and stumbled and drove his way to the hospital.

They had taken him in easy enough, with frightened smiles and shaky hands that cut and stitched his mangled cheek back together with healing hands. After placing a cast on his broken hand, they looked at him and smiled. It unnerved him.

The hospital had wanted him to stay the night, but that was too risky, so he took his clothes and left, wanting to be at the only place he could think of going after such a life or death encounter.

With determination and tired-eyed delusion in his features, he drove to the cemetery, where he would find that the vandalism had gotten worse. This time there were even candles and an upside-down cross left, as if they had tried to perform some ritual.

Hoffman ignored all these things and eased himself down to sit right next to the grave - not on top of it, that would be disrespectful, he told himself, but right next to it, as if they were sitting beside each other.

He leaned against the bark of the tree, and as he did so, he felt the painkillers jingle in his pocket, a sick reminder about what he had just gone through. He let his hand roam over the slick granite surface of the stone and he sighed with self-loathing as he let a lazy, crazed smile run over his face.

"I beat the bear trap." He spoke, his voice a chilling contrast to the silence, "I broke my hand to get free and _still _got half my cheek ripped open."

Silence met him.

"At least I didn't have to cut open a supposedly _dead _body." He smirked wryly, as if taunting her.

The wind blew his hair as a response.

"But I'm not you."

There was a tightening in his chest as he realized he wished she would talk back to him.

But, then again, it was his fault she was dead, wasn't it?

Suddenly, Hoffman felt a surge of self-loathing so strong he was almost afraid.

But Jigsaw's apprentices don't scare that easily. He tried to say this to himself over and over, like a mantra, as he could almost feel Amanda's presence beneath him.

He reveled in this peaceful feeling. It had been a long time since he felt truly at peace with himself, and being here near to Amanda - though her soul was long gone - was something that filled him with the surge of tranquility that he strived to find ever since his sister's death.

It was strange, and yet fitting.

It was still dark, with just the faintest tinges of sunlight rising from in front of him. He wished he could just stay in the night like this for a while, just resting and appreciating the silence away from all the screaming and blood and gore, but he knew it wouldn't last. He had to find Jill and do _something_.

But for now, he'd wait.

And, as the wind chilled him even worse than before, and as the bugs swarmed around him, and as he wallowed in the filth created by the vandals that had disgraced Amanda's grave, he made a decision.

When he died, this was where he wanted to be buried.

Next to her.

* * *

_**End.**_

_And, there it is! Just a little fic that I got inspired to write just after I was invited to be a staff member over at the HoffmanAmanda community by teenageroadkill! It was such an honor, you have no idea! I don't know if you're reading this, but thanks for the invite and I appreciate it! And in a way, this fic was inspired because of it! I hope you - and everyone else enjoyed it! _


End file.
